Here's Chapter 1.  In which we see... Well... Nothing happens really. I'm 25,000 words into it and I haven't a clue what the plot's going to be. :D

Chapter 1 - In Which I Meet Some Interesting Individuals And Cause A Panic Within Twelve Minutes Of Arriving In The Human Realm

 

The Chaos Storms were, as always, difficult to navigate but still rather homey and comforting, a last relief before the dull monotony of life in the human realm. I came out around Chicago, close to a museum of some sort. I hovered above the bustling populace - invisible, of course - studying the sidewalks for anything that looked remotely interesting.

Hey! Look over there, by the entrance! The voice echoed uncomfortably in my head, and I sighed, rolling my eyes. 

“Is there no getting rid of you?” I murmured, floating down closer to peer at the general area that the voice had mentioned. 

No, replied the voice, you’re stuck with us until you stop hanging out in the Chaos Storms so much.

“Quiet.” I drifted even closer to the entrance.

“Step right up folks and have your fortunes read, only a dollar, a dollar to know what’ll happen tomorrow to directly influence you!” The voice sounded rather mechanical and bored. Probably the robot emitting it had been programed without emotional cues. Or it was just bored. It was hard to tell with robots.

“He does look promising…” I muttered, reluctantly. It doesn’t do to encourage voices.

Told you. It sounded smug.

“Shut up.”

“Oi! You!” A thin lad, rather pale and short, was glaring at the fortune-telling robot. I peered closer, taking in his rather ragged clothes and uneven hair dark-brown hair. He looked about fifteen, sixteen at most. And he had a gaping hole in his jeans.

“What?” asked the robot, seeming much less bored now that he wasn’t reading from the index cards he had hidden in his palm.

“You’re blocking the entrance! Move over!”

“No, I’ll stay where I’m programmed to stay.”

“Fine time to stop being a traditional rebellious robot!”

“Go talk to the librarian!”
“You’re a robot, you’re impervious to such measures.”

“So take it out on some poor fool with nothing better to do than cuff your ears.”
“No one’s ever cuffed my ears, robot.”

“Name’s Kangaroo. Use it.”

“Kangaroo?” The boy looked skeptical. “What sort of name is that for a robot?”

“Dunno, but that’s what I’m called. What, your name any better?”

“Toby. Toby M. Hart.”

stand for anything exciting?”

“Dunno, I don’t know what it means, just that it’s there.”

“What, never asked your parents?”
“I’m an orphan. grew up at Mrs. Rothenbuhler’s orphanage, across the street from the bagel place.”
“The one with the little cups of fruit that give you indigestion?”
“That’s the one.”

“Falling down sort of place, doesn’t look like anyone’s been inside for years?”

“It’s not so bad, actually.”

Wow. Hardly here for five minutes and already we’ve witnessed an intriguing conversation.

“Shut up,” I said, rather loudly.

“What was that?” asked someone, sounding rather scared.

“What was what?”

“Someone said to shut up, I tell you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know!”

Ooh, you’ve caused a panic already.

“Hush!”

“There it was again!”

“I heard it to!”

“It’s a ghost!”

“It’s just someone in the balcony!”

“It’s the mayor!”

“Great.” I muttered. “Thanks a lot, guys.”

It wasn’t me it was him!

Meanwhile, below, the crowd at the entryway of the museum jabbered itself into a royal panic, complete with wild-eyed gaping stares. I was reminded of flounders, and naturally began to chuckle, causing a full scale fight-or-flight response to break out below.

“We’ve got to run! Got to get out of here before-”

“Oh for goodness sakes!” cried one of my voices, out loud.

“Did I not expressly forbid you to stay quiet-”

“Ooh, sorry, I forgot!”

“No you didn’t, fool, you’re just as fond of randomness as she is!”

People were beginning to look wildly around, searching for the source of the invisible voices.

“EVERYBODY SHUT IT!” bellowed the boy who had introduced himself as Toby. This drew odd stares and glances from everyone in the general vicinity. “Sorry, but I can’t think with all this blather going on.”

“And on,” I added helpfully.

“Yeah, we get that all the time,” said one of my voices.

“Quiet.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, seriously,” said Toby, glowering at the air about half a meter to my right. “Shut it.”

“Ok,” I said, and slammed the museum doors shut with a resounding and very satisfying  thud. People screamed. Toby sighed with exasperation and started to walk away, throwing his hands up in the air.

“This is why it’s best to stay out of things!” cried Kangaroo.

 

***

 

I hovered, somewhere in Chicago. I wasn’t really paying much attention to anything, other than not blowing something up. I really, really wanted to blow something up. Preferably a dumpster.

Better not, whispered a voice, guessing at what I was thinking. Fate might revoke the deal.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” I murmured.

“MJW?” whispered a voice suddenly. I rolled over and peered into the gloom.

“Report?” The voice was dull and bored sounding, and not unlike the sound of honey flowing over a pile of ice cubes.

“Success. Valerie McCullogh has been… taken care of.

Ooh, assassins!

I love assassins!

Assassins are wonderful!

And interesting…

Well, obviously, otherwise they wouldn’t be wonder-

“Quiet!” I breathed, listening closely.

“Excellent, Bartholomew, excellent. Exactly what I would have hoped for.”

“Yes, sir.”

I peered closer through the gloom, trying to make out the details of the two people below, clothed entirely in black, vampire-style. Goth assassins, fun.

“And the others?”

“Peter is closing in as we speak; Ana and Gregory plan on attacking tomorrow, early.”

“Have you heard from Dani?”

“She’s still searching for the information you require. It is slow going; the information is well protected.”

“Pity; we can’t get at the Rasmussens until we have that particular tidbit. And Guinivere remains inactive until such time as the Rasmussens are dealt with.”

I’m glad we’re impartial entities. It’s so much more fun this way.

Hush.

“And Cassandra, Nandu?”

“Well, you know Nandu, who ever knows what he’s doing? Soon, though, he said. Cassandra… Well… She should be here any-”

“Bart? MJW? That you?”

I looked down the alley. An unnaturally tall woman with vibrantly yellow hair flounced towards the first to assassins. Unlike Bart and MJW - whoever they were - she dressed in a flamboyant neon green.

The one called MJW sighed. “Must you insist on dressing so vibrantly, Cassandra?”

She tossed her golden locks. “Yes.”

“It’s worse than Guinivere - and that’s saying something.” Bartholomew  seemed to slip backward into the shadows.

“You were successful?” asked MJW, peering towards Cassandra.

“Of course. Caffeine is 100% reliable, you know.”

“I still don’t understand how you came up with caffeine, of all things…” muttered Bartholomew. “Anyway,” she added, “I’ve got to go. Later.”

“Toodles!” said Cassandra. MJW nodded quickly. Bartholomew vanished into the shadows.

I departed too, vertically and to the west. 

Here's Chapter 2...

WARNING! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EXPECTING PLOT! PLOT DOESN"T START TILL CHAPTER 10 AND THAT'S REALLY JUST SUBPLOT!

If you're enjoying the randomness, however, carry on.

 

Chapter the Second - In Which My Second Day Begins, I Find Myself Speaking To A Dog, And I Experience Private School, Which, As It Turns Out, Is Every Bit As Boring As Regular School, And Then Some Because The Students Wear Ties

 

I didn’t sleep, of course - I didn’t need to sleep; rather I drifted aimlessly over Chicago, randomly turning streetlights blue. I’m not sure that anybody noticed, though. After all, they were humans and constrained by annoying physical boundaries.

Anyway it was about midnight when I began to drift downwards, finally landing near what appeared to be a scrapyard. I ceased to be invisible, the first time any Principle had truly appeared in this realm.

Oh, risky, Fate won’t like that you know.

“Since when do I care what Fate will like?”

She has a point you know.

I care - I happen to have a fully developed sense of self-preservation.

You think she cares that you care?

Good point. But still…

I know, I know-

If she’s punished we’ll be punished too.

Even though nobody knows we exist-

My point is still valid.

This was probably the worst part of having voices - when they completely forget that I’m there and start arguing among themselves. It’s funny, because without me they would still be random almost-entities stranded in the Chaos Storm.

“Guys, guys,” I said, “I’m still here.”

Oh, right.

You can always just join in on the conversation, it’s not as if we’d exclude you if you wanted to say something.

“Or you could just be quiet.”

“Er… Are you talking to yourself?” I looked around wildly. “Down here.” All I could see was a dog. Mangy old thing, gingery brown and dirty white. Its tongue lolled out and its tale wagged.

“I wasn’t talking to myself.”
“Who, then?”

“The voices that live in my head.”

Now that sounded crazy.

“Voices…” said the dog, “in your… head.”

“I know that sounds odd. But I’m not… Human.”

“No, I know, you’re a Principle.”
“Oh?”

“Yes, you’re Chaos.”

“Alright, yes, but how did you know?”
“I know things.”

“You’re a dog!”

“Well, actually… no.” The dog sprang upward and turned into a short, painfully thin and mangy-looking human, with a pinched, dead-white face and tangled ginger hair.

“Spritely.”

Who?

Do we know this guy?”

“Might have known I’d find you here. How long has it been?”

Spritely grinned. “Almost a month.”

Who is he?

I sighed. “He’s the one behind those massive earthquakes a few months ago.”

“No need to explain, I know. I was there.” I glared at him.

Oh, really?

That Principle who Fate banished?

That’s him?

Doesn’t look big enough to start an earthquake.

“Shut up, all of you.”

“What, me?”

“No, them.”
“Oh. Ok then.” Spritely turned and began to walk away.

“Hey!” I leapt after him.

“What?”

“You could stick around. It’d be less boring than hanging out with just the voices.”

A crooked grin lit up Spritely’s pointed face. “I think I could manage that.”

The sun rose to its fullest then, and the scrap yard was filled with a ghastly yellow light.

“Right, so what now?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

“We could try a high school.”

A bunch of teenagers contained in one building? Sounds promising.

“Ok,” I said. “Why not?”

 

***

 

I picked a school at random; it was a small building, rather too clean for my tastes. Spritely informed me that it was a private school, rather posh and expensive.

Hey look! There’s Toby, remember, from the museum?

I glanced down. There he was, shabbily dressed in grungy jeans and a raggedy hoody, and oddly enough walking up towards the school in step with a taller, more-rich looking girl with her reddish hair up in a precise ponytail.

“Spritely…”

“What?”

“If this is an expensive private school, why are they letting poor orphans in?”

“I think he’s here on scholarship.”

“Ah.” We floated in closer, and I strained to hear what the two were saying.

“I’m telling you, Morwenna, if you don’t want your dad to be so controlling you’ve got to stop doing everything he says.”

“You make that sound easy.”

“It is,” insisted Toby, sounding annoyed.

“Maybe for you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you grew up under Mrs. Rothenbuhler’s care, she’s crazy and not all that controlling.”

“Are you saying there’s a difference between ignoring the orders of a paranoid conspiracy theorist, and ignoring the orders of one of the richest men in Chicago?”

Morwenna shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“I say you’re wrong.” The two of them entered the school; Spritely and I drifted after them.

“Welcome, students,” said a voice over the tinny loudspeakers. “Today is a fine day for learning!”

“What a freak,” muttered one of the students as they passed underneath us.

“At least I don’t hang out with those nerds like he wants me to,” said Morwenna, almost defensively.

“That is something I suppose.”

The loudspeakers blared again. “Students! First period will begin in ten minutes!”

We followed Toby and Morwenna through the rapidly thinning halls into a classroom which, through use of a shiny brass plate, proclaimed itself to be tenth grade English.

Inside there was an array of shiny desks and a blackboard. A row of computers stood against the far wall, opposite a chalked-up blackboard. A blonde woman, who I could only assume was the teacher, sat at a larger desk typing furiously on her computer.

She glanced up as Toby and Morwenna entered.

“Hi, Mrs. Harris,” Morwenna said, not looking very enthusiastic.

“Toby. Morwenna,” replied Mrs. Harris, nodding at each of them in turn. “Have a seat.”

Well, this is boring.

Agreed.
We should look for someone cutting class.

That’d be more interesting for sure.

Hush.

“And what are we doing today?” asked Toby, with the air of someone who asks the same thing everyday.

“We’re going on a little field trip,” said Mrs. Harris, smiling just a little.

Field trip is good.

Unless it’s to the library.

Hush!

“Where to?” asked Morwenna.

“Wait till the rest of the class gets in.”

“So… Not the library.”

“No.”

Not the library, that’s promising at least.

“Hush,” I breathed. Toby glanced up towards the ceiling. Perhaps I’d spoken louder than I had thought. No one else seemed to notice, though.

The rest of the class began to filter in slowly, looking like midget versions of various politicians in frumpy collars and ties. Who wears ties? None of them were greeted as cordially or as personally as Toby and Morwenna had; I could only assume that they were more snobbish than their peers. I felt a bit sorry for them, actually.

“Mrs. Harris,” said one of them nasally. “I do hope we’re not taking another trip down to the auditorium today.” He was unnaturally tall and thin, with carefully combed hair and squinty grey eyes. There was a distinctly unpleasant expression on his face, as if he’d just smelt something foul.

“Alfonso, we’re in the middle of a drama unit, and we’ve been given the very great privilege of watching the drama club prepare for their latest musical.”

“But I hate musicals,” whined Alfonso.

Stuck-up little prat.

Tell me about it.

I wouldn’t say no to a high school rehearsal.

Mistakes upon mistakes.

Probably a lot of laughter to make fun of too.

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered. Toby glanced up again, a frown crossing briefly over his pale face.

“Alfonso,” said Toby quietly, still staring up at the ceiling, “I’d really appreciate it if you could keep your, er, suffering quiet.”
“Shut it, ba-”

“Alfonso!” said Mrs. Harris sharply. “That’s quite enough.”

“So send me to the office, then.” Alfonso looked hopeful.

“I don’t think so; I’m not as dumb as you think.”

“At least it’s not Shakespeare,” murmured one of the boys on Alfonso’s right.”

Mrs. Harris looked up sharply, two creases forming themselves suddenly between her pale eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Ooh, teacher’s a Shakespeare nut!

Shakespeare?

What?

Who’s he?

You know… Shakespeare!

Mmm… No.

He wrote plays.

Plays. Really.

Lots of them. Also some poems.

That’s boring.

For the most part, yeah.

“Actually,” I murmured, “He’s not so bad. Now hush.”

Toby glanced upwards again. “Mrs. Harris?”

She glanced away from the unfortunate boy who had made the comment, her wrath averted for the moment. “Yes?”

“What was it in the paper this morning? About the ‘haunting’ at the museum?”

“Oh. Something about people hearing voices. Weren’t you there?”

“Yeah. But I wanted to know what the media had to say about it.” He was looking rather pointedly up at the ceiling, as if to say, you’d better be careful.

Aw, that was sweet of him.

Wee ickle thing.

Shall we drop an ice cube down his shirt?

Oh, come on, Chaos, do it, it’d be a laugh.

See him dance.

“No, I don’t think so,” I muttered, both in reply to Toby’s warning and the voices suggestions. As lovely as the idea sounded, I figured I’d wait for the class to arrive in the auditorium before beginning to really wreak havoc.

Ooh, going soft, are we?

“Not soft. Just acting on a rare impulse of patience.

Ah.

So we can expect something good at the rehearsal?

Excellent. It’s boring just sitting here.

Er… We’re not sitting.

It’s a figure of speech!

Oh.

Yeesh, Oyn, you’d think you’d know these things, growing up in the Chaos Storms, and so close to the human realm too.

It’s not my fault I didn’t pay much attention to anything going on down here.

“You know,” I whispered, “Somewhere out there there are Principles who think that the Chaos Storms are just swirling masses of randomness that have the potential to kill or seriously injure those without the necessary protection…”

Yeah?

So?

What’s your point?

“Those Principles don’t have any idea that the Chaos Storms can support life… Much less whole empires of bodiless almost-entities…”

And?

Get to the point.

We can’t read your mind you know.

“I envy those Principles. Someday I’d like to tell them the awful truth about the Storms.”

For a moment there was silence, which I relished.

That hurt.

Oh, yeah.

If we could we’d leave and see how you disliked us then.

“I’d welcome the silence.”

Well, then, we’ll just have to remember to make as much noise as possible in the future.

Yes, indeed.

See this is what happens when you insult us-

You just make us want to annoy you more.

And more-

Than we already do, that is.

“All right, everyone’s here? Let’s go, people.” Mrs. Harris still sounded cross. Maybe she was still annoyed by the Shakespeare comment.

They filed out the door, all fourteen of them, after their teacher like ducklings after their mother. I resisted the urge to snicker; the poor things were going to end up being sheep, every last one of them. Except perhaps Toby; he was an outlier, one of those few gems who stick out from the rest of society, the kind who had a tendency to be involved in revolutions and cultural reform. He also had very good ears.

Spritely and I - and by extension the voices - followed the class down the now-deserted halls into a large room with a stage at the far end, and rows of chairs filling up most of the space between the door and the stage. I assumed it was the auditorium, a theory which was supported by the ragged-looking students who were wandering around the stage, making suggestions and mumbling random lines. A Baldwin stood regally on a platform near the stage, shiny and black and most definitely in tune. One of the students, dressed in black and with dark shadows under his eyes, slid onto the bench of the piano, plunking out a few chords at random. His chocolate hair was messy and stuck out at haphazard angles, and his fingers were unnaturally long. Good for piano playing, and he had nice posture too.

“Keep it down, Peter!” shouted another student, clearly an actor if the script he clutched was anything to go by.

“Either that or start playing something,” added a short and rather plump girl, freckly and mouse-like.

“In a minute,” said Peter. “Once I’ve made sure it’s in tune.”

“You tuned it yesterday!” shouted the first student.

“And the day before…”

“And the day before that.”

They’re letting someone with OCD play the piano for them?

It might have it’s perks - he probably practices obsessively.

Or he could just be a bother and never allow anyone to make mistakes.

“Quiet!”

We are quiet, you’re the only one who can here us.

Hence, “voices in your head”.

“You know what I mean.”

Do we?

“Stop communicating.”

Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?

“Now.”

Fine, fine, don’t have to be so pushy do you?

Mrs. Harris chose this moment to step forward and clear her throat. Peter looked up and frowned. “What are you lot doing here?” he asked, rather rudely.

“We’re here with Mr. Miller’s permission, Peter, I assure you.”

“But…” Peter looked as if he had just choked on a particularly tough bit of meat.

“Yes?”

“There can’t be people in the audience until performance time!”

“And why ever not?” Mrs. Harris had the distinct look of someone who’s humoring someone else in hopes that they’ll just shut up.

“Well… I mean to say… Look, it just doesn’t work, ok?” Peter looked very cross indeed.

There’s a face you wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley.

Looks like he could bite someone’s head off, he does.

Slash a throat…

Go on a murderous rampage…

And then evade the forces of “justice” through use of a clever cover-story.

Of course, the clever alibi with plenty of witness who he’s threatened, bribed, or blackmailed!

Or a clever combination of the three.

Perhaps he’s the Peter those assassins mentioned yesterday.

OCD does come in handy sometimes I suppose.

What?

You know, you’d end up obsessing to make sure all your loose ends were tied up; it’d be much harder to catch someone-

“Guys, guys,” I muttered, “I’ll cause a panic now if you shut up.”

Ok.

Right.

Sure.

Quiet time.

Heh…

Just hurry up about it, ‘kay?

I floated down towards the stage, Spritely trailing behind, as the english class filed into the auditorium seats. Peter shot them a glance, looking as if he were being strangled, eyes bugged out and tongue between his perfect white teeth. Maybe he really did have OCD.

I landed on the platform, just behind Peter’s bench, and leaned over his shoulder, peering at the music that stood perfectly straight on the piano. Peter shifted uncomfortably, as if he knew I was standing over him. Odd.

Anyway I reached out and gave the music a good tap, not enough to send it onto the floor, merely onto Peter’s lap. He yelped and immediately set it back up on the stand, straightening it carefully.

“Cake, Peter, calm down,” said an older man, walking in to the auditorium. He had wispy grey hair and a thick mustache, and a ghastly plum-coloured pinstripe suit. I resisted the urge to vomit.

“Mr. Miller, my music fell.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Peter.” Relax.

“Relax?” I muttered, an idea popping suddenly into my head.

Ooh, what?

“You’ll see,” I murmured, then turned towards Spritely. “Can you manage the lights?”

“I think so, it’s not that complicated,” he returned. I could hear him smile wickedly.

“Turn them off, then.” He shot away, upwards and into the techie booth.

What are you doing?

“Relaxing. What’s it look like?”

Well, if you say so…

“Don’t question.”

The lights shut off suddenly; several people screamed. I twitched my fingers; it began to  snow, a light, fluffy, Beginning-To-Look-A-Lot-Like-Christmas sort of snow; more people screamed. I chuckled to myself. Peter turned around on the bench, his jeans scraping against the lacquered wood. “Who’s there?” he asked, his voice the barest whisper.

“No one of consequence,” I replied, smirking to myself.

“Well, obviously,” he replied, still in a whisper. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering with a private high school.

“You’re here. That mean that you’re inconsequential too?”

“This?” I could here the grimace in his voice. “This is just a stupid cover-up.”

“Ah,” I said, “so the voices were right. You are one of MJW’s assassins!”

For a moment he said nothing. “How’d you find out about that?” he asked at last.

“I’ve got my ways. But don’t worry, I’m just an impartial commentator.”

“Like I’m going to believe that.”

“Then flee.”

“I’m no coward.”

“So stay put.”

“I’ve a mite of common sense.”
“You’re not being very helpful.”

“I try not to be. Not very wise to be helpful, not in my line of work.”

“Pianistic accompaniment?”

“The other one.”

“Ah.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, turning back around, “I’ve a song to rehearse.” Peter put his hands to the keys and began to bang out By the Sea, rather more loudly that was necessary.

How rude.

Quite.

The least he could have done was compliment you on the snow.

Or her skillful use of deductive reasoning.

Kids today.
Oh, I know.

This song is catchy though.

Who’d have thought assassins had time for rehearsals?

Must be a good assassin…

I rolled my eyes.

“Peter!” shouted Mr. Miller, sounding very cross. 

“Mr. Miller?” Peter didn’t let up on the piano.

“We’re experiencing mysterious indoor weather and a power outage! This is not the time to be practicing!”

“Oh, Mr. Miller,” sang out Peter, in time with the music. “It’s not such a disaster! Anyway shouldn’t we all be preparing as much as possible and to the best of our ability?”

“Yes,” cried Mr. Miller, sounding almost apoplectic. “But not when none of us can see the hands in front of our faces!”

Peter just laughed and kept right on playing.

Wow, he’s impertinent.

Kids today!

One of the voices began to hum along with the melody. I sighed, and the downy snow turned to a stinging sleet.

“D’you mind?” asked Peter. “Wetness screws with the strings.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, and the sleet slid away from the piano as it fell.

“Thanks.”

Eventually the techies got up to the booth and managed to turn the lights back on. I snapped my fingers, and the sleet disappeared.

Better hope Fate doesn’t find out about that.

He wouldn’t be happy at all.

I’d like to see his face when he does here…

Well, that’s true I s’pose.

“You lot’re just on a roll today, aren’t you?” I asked, rather louder than I needed to.

There you go again.

You’re going to get into terrible trouble someday, you know.

And by “you” he means “we” as well.

By extension.

Yeah, by extension.

Of course.

Seeing as how we’re in your head.

Which is rather crowded, you know, with seven of us.

What do you expect?

Futons?

Little dishes of pineapple and salmon?

Servants to wait on our every need?

We don’t have needs, you fool, we’re bodiless almost-entities who happen to inhabit her head.

I was being metaphorical.

If you say so.

I was!

I doubt it.

Why?

You lack the brain.

You don’t have a brain either.

“Guys, guys,” I said, still louder than was necessary, being sure that everyone in the auditorium could hear me, “No need to quarrel. Why can’t you be nice to each other for a change?”

Nice?

NICE?

You want us to be nice?

“It would make for a nice change of pace…” I smiled.

We don’t do nice.

We grew up in the Chaos Storms.

Peter snorted. “Oh for the love of-” The piano music stopped with an unappealing set of chords. 

 

 

Ok, I may have asked this before, but I still don't know. WHAT in the world in NaNo? Can someone PLEASE tell me? It's being mentioned all over Inkwell!

As things stand right now (in chapter 14), Morwenna tries to convince Toby to come with her to pay the ransom for her piece-of-junk laptop. Meanwhile, Chicago is flooded because the sky is mourning the death of the sun, and Chaos gets into a discussion with Spritely and the voices about who the Galactic Counsel will get to replace the sun.

I'm trying to figure out exactly why Dani stole Morwenna's computer in the first place, and also I need to figure out exactly how Toby is related to Bartholomew in order for the story to make any sense whatsoever. 44,342 words.

*headdesk*